


Strong voice

by Marmotta



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Childhood Trauma, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Family Bonding, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Suicide, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:13:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27630080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marmotta/pseuds/Marmotta
Summary: Ever since they lost three of their brothers on the same night, Maglor hasn't spoken a word to anyone. In Sirion, he has to raise his voice again to save two children from a certain death.
Relationships: Maedhros | Maitimo & Maglor | Makalaurë
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short story about my own headcanon that Maglor became mute due to all the tragic things he had endured. Also, featuring Maedhros who became nastier than I ever expected.

Quiet weeping of women filled the streets of the haven of Sirion. Fires raged everywhere across the city and the rotting corpses of elves and men were strewn across the landscape as far as the eye could see. What once had been a safe place that provided asylum for the refugees of the countless wars and skirmishes in Beleriand, was now just another stage for the aftermath of a cruel attack.   
Yet, what set this attack apart from the usual ones, was its perpetrators. This was not malicious cruelty done by Angband’s orcs and its dark magic. No dragon fire had burned the houses down and turned bodies of countless women and children into ash.

Maedhros stood in the middle of the carnage he had orchestrated. He held his head high, not sparing even a glance to the bodies or the survivors, that raised their voices in pleads for mercy when they huddled past him. They meant nothing to him. Blood was dripping down his polished armor and he had sheathed his sword for now. There lingered a sour taste in his mouth. They had known Sirion was mostly inhabited by refugees, not warriors, so the victory had been almost guaranteed. Yet it had taken nearly two full days of fighting and heavy losses in the streets until the victory was theirs completely.

The city was on its knees before them, yet there was one last thing they needed to accomplish.  
There was a determined look in Maedhros’ eyes and his gaze was fixated on one particular building that he could see on the other side of the town, located on a hilltop. Their goal after all these years was so close he could almost feel his father’s precious gem in his hand.

Maedhros observed his men around him. After the battle had ended there was no controlling them. The troops weren’t the valiant noldor soldiers they once had been. Years of living in the wilderness outside any society or the rules that came with it, had turned them into ruthless vagabonds. Raucous laughter and jests filled the streets. Most of them went from house to house, the ones that were still standing, and looted them to their hearts desire. Windows were broken and furniture was scattered. Residents were scared out of their hiding spots and driven away with threats of violence. One of the soldiers was in the middle of shearing off an elven woman’s hair for the precious jewels woven into it. His friends were rousing him on and no help came for the woman. The flames around them casted their gigantic shadows on the wall behind them. The woman’s scream mixed in with the soldiers cheers as wine kegs were brought out and served to anyone who wanted a taste. Someone found fine ivory cups from another house and the mood amongst the victors was merry.   
Yet, Maedhros did not join them. He was waiting for a word.

There was a small child, probably an elven one, wandering around the street only a few meters away from Maedhros. Alone and completely lost. The child had a thousand yard stare in their eyes and bleeding cut on their forehead. The fires made the child’s light hair seem red. Maedhros watched as the child went carefully from body to body, searching their faces until moving on. Not finding what they were looking for, the child disappeared around the corner shortly after.

Finally his messenger arrived and confirmed Maedhros’ suspicions. He left his men to their merrymaking and made his way forward with his personal guardsmen. They were forbidden from leaving Maedhros’ side unless commanded and were aware of the final quest they had to take before they could rest. They followed closely behind their noble lord, eyes scanning the area for any possible threats. 

They had to stop for a while as they had to clear the street from rubble, caused by a collapsed wall. The air was filled with smoke and dust and it irritated Maedhros’ throat. It caused him to cough heavily and he had to lean onto a wall for a second to catch his breath. He truly hated the place and the sooner they were back in Ossiriand, the better. He spat a grey glob of spit on the pavement before rising. He barked for his men to hurry up.  
With his hand on the hilt of his sword, his finger tapping a rhythm and anxiously waiting to advance, Maedhros noticed a shadow joining them. It slipped out almost without a sound from one dark alleyway and stepped into the light cast by their torches. 

Pale and dark haired elven man was now standing next to Maedhros, swaying slightly from side to side. His expression was unreadable and he did not say a word of a greeting. The man carried a sword, which was stained dark with blood but his grip was loose and unfocused. It was as if the sword would slip from his grasp any moment now. 

“Ah, brother. I was wondering where you had gone to. I was afraid I would have to go on by myself. Are you finished with the task I gave you?”  
Maglor nodded once and that was enough. Maedhros did not expect him to answer. Maglor had not spoken in years. The famed minstrel, once known for his singing voice and poetry, had gone mute the day they had recovered the bodies of three of their brothers after Doriath. After the battle was over, Maedhros had found Maglor draped over Caranthir’s body, whispering an old lullaby to him as he stroked his brother’s ice cold cheek. Later they had found Celegorm and Curufin, who had died together, side by side like they always had been. They had burned the three of them that night. No grave remained of them. Maglor hadn’t uttered a word, or sung, since.  
Now it was just two of them. They had lost Amras two days earlier in the early hours of the attack. Maedhros hadn’t been able to stop but had been informed later that Maglor had been the one to carry the battered corpse of their youngest sibling away and bury him in an unmarked grave outside the city.

The road was finally clear. With a smile, Maedhros tugged his younger brother to his side, and the company made their way up the road to a house that was larger than the average building in the makeshift town, but still quite modest with its bare walls with no ornaments anywhere. There was a small garden tucked on the side, untouched, which looked unnatural amidst all the chaos.   
The house resided on a hill that looked over the rest of Sirion, and behind it were the sharp and bare cliffs that dropped into the restless sea.  
Waves could be heard raging against the sturdy rock meters below them. A seagull cried somewhere and that was the only noise they heard. The house itself stood still and quiet. No guardsmen surrounded the house nor could they feel any sort of magic about the place. Maedhros encouraged his men forward. 

The door was barred from the inside but was no match to the brute force of the armed men. They threw themselves against it, time and time again as Maedhros’ gaze scanned the perimeter. The door groaned and shifted before giving in and collapsing inwards. Splinters of wood were everywhere and Maedhros unsheathed his sword. He kicked some wood aside before stepping inside. Quickly he looked around with his sword raised. He could see no one. No attack came. The house felt like it was holding its breath and Maedhros couldn’t help but to feel a bit unnerved. Had the mariner truly left his household this unprotected?

“Elwing! Daughter of Dior, come forth and release the silmaril in your possession and we will promise you no harm will come to you,” Maedhros finally broke the eerie silence. 

No answer came. The house seemed to be empty. Small portrait of Dior looked down upon him from a wall. Maedhros struck it down and the picture shattered.   
He gestured to his men to search the house but gave orders not to hurt the lady too badly. They grinned and got to it. As they tore down everything that wasn’t secured in its place, Maedhros gave Maglor the orders to guard the front door with a couple of his men. In just a matter of minutes, they tore down almost every shelf and cupboard that could contain something hidden, scattering things around in frantic search for the silmaril. They pulled up rugs to search for hidden trapdoors, to no avail. 

“Your husband is away at sea! Your people lay slaughtered! How far are you willing to go, Lady Elwing?” Maedhros bellowed. The small loft proved also to be empty and Maedhros ordered his men to advance to the back of the house.  
One eager guardsman went first and peeked inside a storage room. Then, all hell broke loose in just a second. Suddenly, from another, smaller storage room ran out an elderly edain woman, with a knife raised. She plunged it into the surprised guard, who had been the one to open the door. The man fell dead on the ground.  
The woman screamed with terror, still holding the knife.  
“Now! Run, my lady!”

And like the loveliest songbird flying out from it’s cage, Elwing emerged from her hiding place in the dark room, looked around with determination, and with a few swift steps was at the back door of the house. She wrenched the door open and disappeared. The door banged loudly against the wall as Maedhros screamed with fury and ran past his shocked men.  
“After her! I want her alive!” 

He was stopped for a brief moment by the old woman, who grabbed his arm and tried to halt his run. Feet digging into the floor and putting all of her strength into the effort of delaying Maedhros for a single moment to give her mistress more time. Maedhros struck her down and cut her throat in a single stroke. The woman was left bleeding on the doorway as Maedhros followed Elwing into the night.

The lady’s fair, bright hair was like a beacon in front of him. A beacon Maedhros followed through the dark. The woman was running barefoot through the rocky cliffs. Not once did she stumble. Even when her feet clearly started to hurt and bleed, Elwing did not look back or scream. She was running as fast as she could, but was clearly holding something that made her running difficult and less controlled.

Maedhros might not have been as swift as Celegorm, whose hunting prowess had been legendary, but in a few minutes he had gained on Elwing, who was making her way to the tall rocks. Foolish of her. There she would be cornered, with no possibility for escape.  
Elwing looked back and as she saw Maedhros only a few steps behind her, she climbed her way up to the tallest rock she could find and sang out a desperate cry for help. 

There was no Eärendil on a ship waiting for her. Only the seagulls answered. Maedhros smirked and almost wanted to laugh at her foolishness. He slowed down to half jog and halted his men to stay back, their weapons readied. This wouldn’t take long. Maedhros walked up to the rock Elwing was standing on and called out to her. Elwing’s head snapped back and directed a hateful gaze to the man. She had her father’s piercing blue eyes, Maedhros noted.

In her hands was a woven pouch and she was clutching it tightly against her chest. A shiver wrecked Maedhros' entire body. He could practically feel the stone thrumming with power even from that distance.

“Elwing, it’s over. You have fought valiantly, but it takes a great wisdom to know when to give in.”  
“You say that, son of Feanor, while being once again covered in the blood of innocent women and children. Tell me, when are you and your family going to give in?”  
“When we fill up the oath we made to our father so long ago. We can’t rest until we fulfill it. So, for all of our sakes, give me the silmaril. You know it was stolen and that I’m its rightful owner. I promise you, that you will be returned to your husband unharmed.”  
“Your promises mean nothing to me, snake. Your brother also promised my father no harm would come to his children. Yet, Celegorm took my brothers into the wilderness and now Eluréd and Elurín are forever lost,” Elwing screamed as tears gathered to her eyes.   
“Celegorm is dead, Elwing. And I am not my brother.”  
“No, you are not. He was so much worse than you. Were he here, I would have killed him. No, son of Feanor, this ends here and now,” Elwing said with calmness in her voice again. She pressed the silmaril against her chest even tighter, spared a last glance of sorrow to her house, which Maedhros couldn’t decipher, and then took a step back. A step towards the roaring sea.

When Maedhros realized what she was about to do, panic overtook him. He screamed and started to scramble up the rock as well. Screaming her name, he watched as she took another step back and then another. The climb was difficult with only one hand, and he slipped several times. Soon she was standing on the very edge of the cliff, her bruised feet dislodging small pebbles that fell from under her. Maedhros was on his hands and knees in front her, begging yet seething with rage. He would kill her at the first chance he got.  
“Elwing, stop. Stop! Give it to me!”  
Elwing was crying, but smiled through the tears. She pressed a soft kiss to the silmaril, like a child kissing the cheek of a parent. And then she was gone. Last thing Maedhros saw was the flash of her fair hair as it disappeared over the edge. 

A scream ripped through Maedhros and he crawled to the edge and peered over it. No trace of Elwing or the silmaril was left. The sea had swallowed them both in seconds.  
“Get to the boats! Search for her body! Search for the silmaril! Dive into the ocean if you have to!” Maedhros screeched to his shocked men who were still staring at the spot where Elwing had been just a second ago. No one could believe what she had done.

Maedhros came down from the rock and was about to lead his men to the shore when one of his men assigned to guard the house with Maglor approached him.   
“My lord! Come quick, we found something!”  
“What?”   
Had Elwing been bluffing? Had she truly killed herself as a distraction only to secure the silmaril in the house after all? Maybe she had been in contact with Cirdan and Gil-Galad already?  
“You better come see.”

Maedhros sent his men to the boats to start their search and followed the messenger. As they got nearer to the house, he could hear animal-like wailing coming from inside the house. 

Maedhros stepped inside through the door he had chased Elwing through only ten minutes ago. It felt like a lifetime. In the main room of the house, his remaining guards were gathered around something. The crying came from the floor.  
“My lord, we searched the house thoroughly and we found them hidden away in one of the closets,” said Canorfin, Maedhros’ second in command.  
Maedhros broke through the circle of the men and was greeted by a sight of two young boys. Twins, Maedhros shuddered. One was silent and trying to make himself seem as small as possible, his thumb inside his mouth and his other hand grasping at his brother’s sleeve. The brother was sitting upright and making his displeasure known to the whole world. The boy was as red as his tunic and screaming and sobbing uncontrollably. He called out to his ammê in panic.

The twins couldn’t be older than six years old. Maedhros hadn’t known Eärendil had sired any children on Elwing.  
Maedhros looked at them uncompassionately. The sniveling face of the crying child annoyed him tremendously already.

“My lord? Where is the lady?”  
“Gone. Threw herself over the edge. Such is the power of the silmaril that it would cause thieves to jump to their deaths and leave their own children behind. She is not coming back. The rest of my guards are searching for the stone as we speak. We shall join them immediately.”  
“Then, what should we do about them?”  
For a moment Maedhros thought of Elwing’s words and his brother Celegorm, who had abandoned her small brothers in the forest. He hadn’t been there, but had heard of a detailed account of how Dior, mere moments away from his own death, had begged for Celegorm to spare the lives of his children. Celegorm had promised with his usual grace that they wouldn’t kill them. Then by his orders, his servants had dragged the boys away from their parents and marched the boys deep into the forest and to one soldier’s account, left them there to starve. The boys had been about the same age as the twins in front of him now. Maedhros frowned at the memory before sighing deeply.  
“Kill them. They have no kin left to vouch for them.”  
“My lord…”  
“Or send them the same way their mother went. I do not care, just do it. We need to recover the stone and move out before Cirdan and Gil-Galad reach us.”  
“Yes, sir,” Canorfin said, sheathing his sword before pulling out his smaller, more practical knife. The children had gone both quiet and deathly pale now. Maedhros turned away to leave. Canorfin reached down to pick one of the boys up when he was pushed away by a sudden assailant.  
“NO.”  
A voice Maedhros hadn’t heard in years rang in the room. It was a clear voice strong enough to make every single person freeze to the very spot they were standing at.   
He turned around in shock and saw Canorfin tumble on the floor with Maglor, who was wrenching the knife away from his hand. Maglor’s hands were gripping the blade and Maedhros could see blood dripping down between his fingers. Maglor threw the knife across the room, as far away from them as possible. It left a bloody trail as it was flung. 

When Canorfin gave up and retreated, Maglor stumbled with shaking feet and threw himself to the floor in front of the boys. He pressed his forehead against the floor planks and a sob wrecked through his entire body.  
“Brother, please. No more,” he said with a hoarse, unused voice, that was barely above whisper.  
“Maglor…”  
“They are but children, Nelyo. Do not kill them.”  
“Has pity taken over your heart, Káno? Now of all times?”  
“If you can’t search your heart for compassion, then think of it this way, they are the last of what’s left of Thingol’s line. They are valuable to us.”  
“You suggest that we take them as prisoners, instead? When have we ever taken prisoners?”  
“I know, brother, but I am sure Gil-Galad and Cirdan would pay for their safe return.”  
“We do not need their money and we are not criminals holding hostages for the sake of payment,” Maedhros spat out.  
“Valuable piece in negotiations then! Their lives could secure our safe passage back to Ossiriand.”

Maedhros looked at his brother for a moment. He searched his eyes and saw the anguish in them. Sensing something more behind Maglor’s words, Maedhros ordered the room to be cleared out. He ordered everyone to rejoin with the men on the shore and start their search without him. The men were glad to leave the brothers to settle out their differences in private. Everyone was visibly uncomfortable by the public wailing of a man they deemed to be practically insane. 

Soon, it was just two of them and the silent children.  
“What is this really about, Káno? I know you well, so don’t lie to me now.”  
“I beg of you to put an end to this. I just can’t take this anymore. We’ve lost everything...”

And Everyone. 

“...I feel like my heart is about to burst. Everyday. And there are times when it becomes hard to breathe and my head swims.”  
Maedhros crouched down to Maglor’s level and swept away a lock of his hair.  
“Do they remind you of our baby brothers? Or do the sins of Turcafinwë haunt you? If I remember correctly, you tried to search for Dior’s children after we left Doriath?”  
Maglor did not answer. He buried his face in his bloody hands and wailed out his agony. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a leather pouch. It was thrown at Maedhros’ feet.

Inside were a lock of auburn hair and two small finger bones. Maedhros grimaced. He rose up and glanced a pitiful look at the two children behind Maglor.   
“Fine. They are your prisoners, your responsibility. Do what you want with them. Keep them silent and out of sight. And if we have any reason to get rid of them, they are gone.”  
Maglor raised his face, his red swollen eyes filled with tears. He thanked Maedhros and kneeled again to kiss the hem of his robe.

Maglor had always been the sensitive soul of the family. Maedhros had been the shining star of the family and his father’s favorite until Curufin was born and proved to be almost the perfect copy of Feanor himself. They all had vied for their father’s hard earned attention and love of course, but Feanor had always made clear who his favorites were. Maglor had grown up to be a sensitive and artistically gifted child. Of all the children, he shared the most of his mother’s compassionate and gentle nature. They were both artists by heart and his mother adored him, but was mostly busy with her pregnancies and afterwards, taking care of the younger siblings. By the time the twins had grown up and his mother’s work completed, Maglor was too old to hide in his mother’s skirts. The person who he had leaned onto during his formative years, was his older brother. Maedhros had been the one to soothe him after he hurt himself. Always picking Maglor back up to his feet. He had defended him against their father’s pointed ire countless times. Just like Celegorm and Curufin later, the two of them had been inseparable. Of all the brothers, Maglor had been the most hesitant to leave Valinor and their mother behind. Time and time again he had almost turned back, ready to beg for forgiveness in front of the valar and his mother, whose heart the eight of them had broken.

**

Cirdan and Gil-Galad walked through the wreckage, shocked to their very cores in the face of such unnecessary death. They had arrived at Sirion just after the dawn after sailing all night, but it had been too late. The attackers were gone. Now there were only bodies to bury and refugees to transport to a safer location. Sirion was dead. The fires had exhausted themselves and now there was only smouldering ashes and smoke. 

Cirdan kneeled down to inspect a woman on the ground, who was coughing furiously, little bit of blood on around her nose and mouth.  
“Are you alright?”  
“It’s just a bit of dust, milord, and the blood is not mine. Might you spare some water?”

Cirdan ordered some to be brought to the woman, who thanked him and devoured it all in seconds. She poured some of it on her palm and rubbed her face clean.  
“Can you tell me something of the attackers?”  
The woman’s face turned grave.  
“It was the sons and their band of criminals. Came down upon us like rabid dogs, and did not care who they cut down. First we thought it was the men working for The Foe, until we saw the faded stars painted on their shields. Then we started to run,” the woman spit.  
Cirdan nodded in confirmation.  
“Do you know what happened to Lady Elwing?”  
The woman shook his head and gave back the flask.  
“Forgive me, I do not. But a few hours ago I saw folks come running from the direction of her house. Said they had seen the beasts leaving while burning everything on their path. They might know something.”  
Cirdan nodded again, this time for his friend standing motionless.

Orders were issued to the survivors to gather up in the harbour. They would leave for the Isle of Balar at noon. Endless stream of miserable figures started their trek to the direction they were pointed at. At the harbor, they had to identify themselves and their kin to be allowed aboard. Cirdan’s men went around asking about any information of Lady Elwing’s fate.

Gil-Galad and Cirdan were helping their soldiers gather up bodies for burial. Gil-Galad’s usually cheerful face was now as hard as rock as he picked up a body of a boy no older than sixteen. He placed him gently on top of the growing pile on a cart.  
“When you think the sons couldn’t have sunk any lower after Doriath, they go and do this,” Gil-Galad muttered and gritted his teeth. 

Cirdan placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.  
“I almost hope they got the cursed stone and can now take their desperate fight to the dark lord and leave the rest of us in peace,” Gil-Galad continued and told his men to take the cart to the shore, where a funeral pyre was being set up with the help of the survivors.  
“Seems only Maedhros and Maglor are left. There goes a rumor that one of the feanorians died in the first hour of the attack.”  
“The damn fools.”  
They laboured for a while before a messenger ran up to them with news. They seated the exhausted looking man down and bid him to speak in a hurry. They feared for the worst that could happen to the daughter of Dior in the hands of the brothers and they had been late from the start.

“There was an old man who finally came forth to speak of the lady. Well, he doesn’t know what happened to Lady Elwing exactly, but he saw the feanorians leave.”  
“Well, speak up.”  
“The man told us he saw them three hours ago. He was hiding in a shed with his granddaughter, when he saw two lords come marching down the hill from the house where Elwing resided. The lady was not with them and the lords, especially a red haired one with only one arm, did not look particularly happy.”  
“So Elwing escaped with the silmaril?”

The messenger went quiet for a moment before continuing with a shiver in his voice.  
“From what the old man could piece together, it seemed they were keen to search the shoreline and even took out some boats to the water.”  
“Then…”  
“I am sorry, my lords. It seems to us that Lady Elwing took her own life and the silmaril with her. Some men took the liberty and are searching for her as we speak.”  
Cirdan buried his face to his hands. He was a dear friend to Eärendil and this felt like a stab to his heart. He had betrayed his friend. How could he ever bid him welcome back when the man would return.

Nobody spoke for a while. Everyone needed a moment to digest the news, to think of a plan to move forward.  
Cirdan said a quiet prayer for Ulmo to watch over her.  
“There is... there was one more thing that might interest you.”  
Cirdan’s head whipped back up.  
“When the feanorians left. The old man noticed two of the guards carrying two small bundles over their shoulders. He heard them whimpering and crying.”  
The twins. A chill ran down Cirdan’s spine. They had been so deep in their worry and grief they had totally forgotten Eärendil’s two small boys.  
“Why! Why would they take them? They are mere children,” Cirdan turned to watch Gil-Galad in search of an answer, his mouth hanging open.  
“I do not know that, my friend. But the children are in mortal danger every moment they spend in the company of Maedhros’ and his men.”  
“There must be something we can do to save them.”  
“I am afraid they are beyond our help, Cirdan. If they are not already dead.”

Cirdan chewed on his lip and glanced back to the muddy and trampled road that led away from Sirion and disappeared into the hills. He itched to gather up his men and pursue Maedhros’ army and do something. He imagined the terror the children must have felt and it enraged him. The picture of Maedhros’ sneering smile entered his mind unwillingly. 

“Cirdan,” Gil-Galad’s voice tore him away from his thoughts and he glanced at his friend, who was walking away from him.

Cirdan only hoped Eärendil could forgive them someday. He turned his back to the road and followed his friend.


	2. A strong voice II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maglor takes the first unsure steps at the path of parenthood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Wildkitte, for helping me edit and giving me life saving advice. Hello and thank you also for all the readers, old and new. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Maglor sat on the damp ground, arms around his knees to keep any warmth in as long as he could. The small fire in front of him mostly put out suffocating smoke, for the wood had been much too damp. The stunted flames did not provide him with any answers nor comfort. His body shivered as a few drops of rain fell on his face from the trees above. He had given up his thick traveling blanket for the children and had only wrapped himself in his old, worn cloak with frayed edges. Once it had been rich burgundy of color to compliment its wearer eyes but after decades of usage its color reminded more of the muddy road they were forced to travel. Some princes they were, these days. 

He looked at the children next to him, sleeping peacefully and tangled up together in search for extra heat and comfort. Maglor had mixed some of his own remedy that he used on himself to make him sleep into the children’s drink. Only a few drops though, to help keep the nightmares away and to make sure they would sleep until they were ready to move again. They would be more calm during the next day's ride as well. Everyone was on the edge already. No need to agonize them even more with two sobbing, tired children. 

They were strange to look at. Half-elven and some of the holy maia blood mixed in. Maglor tried to search for some family resemblance in vain. They seemed mostly human even though the elven blood ran a lot stronger inside them. They weren’t as tall as elven children of their age and their ears were more rounded than normal ears of an elf. They were sleeping with their eyes closed, chests rising in peaceful unison. Peculiar.

Maglor felt exhausted and drained out but there would be no rest for him tonight. He couldn’t remember a time when he had let his soul walk among Varda’s stars and awake the next morning feeling refreshed. No, it was only the drug that gave him the sweet, dark oblivion for a few hours. Every night. He had come to believe he did not even deserve to trek the pathways of the stars above him anymore. Heavy sleep he couldn’t remember the following day was the only solace he knew. 

He heard a stick crack and raised his eyes to see his brother emerge from the darkness. He had taken off his armor and was only donning his blue tunic. His hair was damp and the only blood remaining on him was crusted under his fingernails. Nobody was following him. Their soldiers had withdrawn to their shared campfires far away from Maglor. He could see them between the trees. The men were dividing loot and Maglor had heard a couple fights broke out during the evening. He had made sure to stay clear of them. No need to draw anymore attention to himself or his new wards. What had drawn Maedhros away from his soldiers so suddenly?

Maedhros didn’t speak and he didn’t have his sword on him, but had his trusted dagger strapped to his thigh. Instinctively, Maglor moved closer to the children, placing him between them and his brother.  
If Maedhros was hurt by this, he didn’t show it. He merely chuckled before sighing.  
“So much trust you put in me, brother?  
Maglor relented with a shake of his dark head as he motioned Maedhros to sit next to him.  
“Will it be another thirty years before you speak again?”  
Maglor shook his head again.  
“You need time? I understand. That was quite a spectacle you put up there. And look, it worked! The children were spared and you managed to convince yourself there's some good in you left. Now the question is, what now? You will drag them to the wilderness and thrust them into the harsh and violent life we have led for so long now? Is that truly the better option?”

Maglor shrugged and poked the fire with a charred stick. He didn’t know. Looking back now, what he had done seemed like madness that had come upon him suddenly. Yet, he didn’t feel an ounce of regret when he looked at the two sleeping forms next to him. It felt right, what he had done. And he liked the feeling. He absolutely didn’t think of himself absolved of his sins. Far from it. But he felt like he was nudged a little closer to the rightful path again. 

"Káno, I need you to focus. I am weary of all of this as well. I wish I could spend the rest of my days traveling these woods and fill my days with hunting and riding. I want to see distant lands that none of our folk have ever seen. My heart aches to imagine a life where you could pick up your lyre again and the wilds would be filled with your music again. You could marry again and have children of your own to raise. That’s what I want for us. Yet, we can’t. Even if we have lost one of the stones, we can’t abandon the quest we have undertaken because…” his voice quivered, few syllables away from breaking, and he turned his head away for a moment. 

“...Because if we do not succeed and just give up, then what the fuck has this all been for?” Maedhros finished and could talk no longer. 

Maglor shuffled closer to his brother and Maedhros offered his one remaining hand to him. Maglor squeezed it tenderly, traced the old scars that refused to fade. For a moment he had to concentrate on finding his voice again. After being mute for decades, speaking was a difficult task which required focus.

"Nelyo, you are the most important to me. You are the only thing that's left of what once was my life. I will never abandon you, I promise,” he whispered with a raspy voice. He was surprised himself, how different his voice sounded. Maedhros didn’t seem to care for the strangeness of it however. A wide smile spread across his handsome features.

“It’s good to hear your voice again. How are your hands? Do your fingers still work?”  
Maglor looked at them and clenched his fingers. The wounds he had received in his tumble with Canorfin had closed up but the joints ached, he had to admit.  
“I am sure they will heal with time. I think I can manage holding a sword still.”  
“What about your playing?” Maedhros inquired nonchalantly but became frightened of the look on his brother's face. It had twisted into a mix of fury and sorrow.  
“It is the only thing I don’t do any longer, not even for you. Don’t ask that of me anymore,” Maglor spat out.  
Maedhros nodded  
“I must admit I was wrong,” he started in need of a distraction. Maglor's face became emotionless again and he buried it deep into his cloak.  
“What you said back there, about them being useful. You were right, Káno. I realized it when my anger dissipated and I had time to think. They are heirs to grand titles and lands. Having them under our influence when they come of age could be useful in many ways.  
Maglor was silent. His brother was right, of course. It was a sensible plan to go forward. The jewels were the main goal but it was always good to think ahead. As long as the children remained useful for Maedhros no harm would come to them.

*

Seven months after the events of Sirion, Maglor opened his eyes in his own bed and stared at the tent canvas high above him. He felt groggy, the effects of the sleep potion still lingered on the edge of his mind, beckoning him to fall into unconscious bliss again. He struggled into a sitting position and rubbed his hand over his face. His bony fingers ran through his shineless, matted hair that hung like curtains around his face. As the sleep was driven away from his head, he became aware he was being watched. He turned his head to see Elros, who was watching him from the doorway, chewing on his thumb again.  
"Elros. Have you been there long?"  
A head shake.  
"Where is your brother?"  
The child just stared back at him.  
"You need to use your words, child. Remember?"  
A nod.  
"Where is Elrond?"  
"Out."  
"Have you had anything to eat yet?" Maglor couldn't remember if he had made sure the twins ate last night. The potion made sure to wipe his memory clean. He hoped there had been someone who pitied them enough to give them supper.  
"No," Elros shook his head.  
Maglor groaned and felt even more miserable.  
"Right. I need to see my brother first. Can you fetch your brother and wait for me here? I won't be long. I’ll bring food with me"  
Elros ran out without saying another word.

The wolf fur carpet was almost too soft under his bare feet. Maglor was sure he would sink entirely into it if he stood up. Solid, unyielding earth would have been more preferable at his condition. Yet, he didn’t sink as he swayed across his tent. He found his soft deer skin boots near the door and had to sit down to pull them on after almost falling spectacularly on his face. He reached for his cloak and stepped out.  
Luckily, it was cloudy early spring morning. Bright light of the sun didn’t assault his eyes and he was able to make a dignified walk across the camp. There were already a lot of people up and about and Maglor realized he had slept late. Well, no matter. Maedhros had never been fond of sunrises.

He kept his head down as he made his way to his brother's tent. Few people, old friends, stopped to greet him but he was mostly left alone. Everyone had grown accustomed to their leader's mostly mute shadow. Once he had led his own people and been the ruler and guardian of the lands between the river Gelion. Now he was mostly regarded with pity. He pretended not to notice that most people thought his intelligence had dimmed for good. It made people leave him alone and it suited Maglor fine.  
He passed cooks tending to their camp kitchens and people eating their morning meal around them. Some people took advantage of the lax discipline and were dozing off wherever it suited them or gambling. Maglor had to dodge two dogs in the middle of a heated argument and the people that cheered the animals on.

Maedhros’ tent stood a little distance away from the camp. He had been adviced several times to move closer to the camp. Maedhros had stubbornly refused every time. He cherished solitude and privacy. Only Maglor was allowed to approach his tent and enter without special permission.

In front of his brother’s tent Maglor didn't announce his arrival before simply moving the heavy flap aside. Sunlight poured into the tent and illuminated the luxurious living quarters. It was twice the size of Maglor's own and most of the valuables they had managed to salvage from Himring were stored there. Maglor stepped inside and sealed the sun away again.

"Where were you?"  
In the private darkness of the tent, Maglor could only see a shape on the bed. It moved, heavy blankets being cast aside, and Maedhros came to lean on his elbow and regarded him with his piercing eyes.  
"I overslept, I am sorry,” Maglor apologized and came to wait by the bed.  
"You should be careful with that drug, Káno. One day you might not wake at all."  
"Who would wake you up, then?"  
"No one. We’d be both gone," Maedhros joked and sat up. He smelled himself and grimaced. The sheets were soaked with sweat.  
Maglor went to the pitcher and poured water to a bowl on a table. He set aside fresh towels and went to retrieve clean clothes. As clean as possible.  
Maedhros rose and clambered to the wash bowl. His face crumbled with pain for a second. His shattered bones reminded him of their existence once again.  
Maglor hurried back to him and stood by as his brother managed to wipe his face clean of the thick sheen of sweat that had gathered on his forehead during the night.  
"How did you sleep?" Maglor asked as he twisted the extra water off from a new wash cloth before handing it over.

Maedhros turned his face away. His shaking hand took the offered cloth and started to wipe down his chest and arms.  
"I didn't. I woke once and it was so dark I was sure I was back there. The certainty that Gorthaur had finally gone through with his promise to blind me overwhelmed me. I couldn't move for what seemed like hours. Only when the first light of the sun peeked under the canvas, I believed I was safe and that you would come to wake me soon."  
Maglor hummed and took up a comb and started to run it through Maedhros' soft locks. Unlike his own hair, now dull and ragged, Maedhros’ hair held its shine and strength. It’s beauty and the deep auburn glow reminded Maglor of their mother’s hair and always managed to comfort him. He would braid it beautifully. His braids weren't as graceful and artistic as Fingon's handiwork had been, but it would do. 

Once Maedhros had had a horde of servants, ready to fulfill his every beck and call. After his return from the dead, he had started to despise people he didn’t truly know and trust entering his private space. There had been instances, after his return, when a servant or two had gone into his room in the morning to bring him food or light a fire. It had sent Maedhros into a frenzy and terror that took days to recover from. The servants had been silently let go one by one. To keep Maedhros reputation intact. The brothers were the only people he trusted enough to help him out of the bed in the morning.

And Fingon. He had been there as well. His deeds and love for Maedhros had closed the rift which had existed between their families. He always managed to coax his cousin out of whatever nightmare played in front of his eyes. He stayed by Maedhros' side for hours, guarding his sleep, slipping between the bedsheets to hold him. The old, slumbering love between the two of them had awakened again.  
That sick bed had been their only marriage bed. It had smelled of pus, blood and festering wounds. Yet on those stinking soiled sheets, the two of them had vowed their everlasting love for each other and Maedhros had been sure his withered heart would burst.  
And he had started to recover. He had started to plan for the future. Together with his king.

Then the war happened and Maedhros shed unnumbered tears as another nightmare became his nightly companion and it was Maglor’s turn to take up the duty to protect him. Every morning he arrived and prepared him for the day, so he could face his people as their steadfast leader and hold all the reins in one capable hand. Maglor was the only one who could do that anymore. 

"I need to meet up with the hunting party today. Otherwise in a few weeks time we’ll only be eating our grain. I need to send them off tomorrow," Maedhros said as he looked at himself in the mirror. He twisted and turned, made sure nothing was out of place. He smiled in appreciation  
"Will you be joining them?"  
"Perhaps."  
Silence fell between them and only sounds were the ones coming from the camplife outside. Maglor helped his brother get dressed in this silence, mmoothing over the wrinkles of his robe and wipe off the dust from his wolf fur vest.  
“It’s good...hearing you speak again like this. I was getting lonely,” Maedhros said as he stood up, ready to face the world. The nightmares had been driven away and Maglor had transformed him from huddling ghoul to an exiled Noldor prince once more. 

He watched from the doorway as Maedhros made his way down the pathway, greeting his men left and right. Every single soul in that campment adored their leader. There had been a time when their numbers had been counted in thousands. Now there were only a few hundred people left. Most of their old friends’ broken bodies lay under The Hill of Tears. After Morgoth’s victory in the north, the remains of Maedhros’ people had taken to the wild woodlands and they resembled more of a wild edain tribe than a host of a noble elven lord. The daily life in the camp was survival. They were plagued by seasonal hunger since plants turned sour and animals sickened ever since Morgoth’s victory in the north. His foul beasts and followers had poured into Beleriand and now roamed those very forests as well. Not a month went by without some kind of encounter with them.  
Their numbers had diminished over the years but those who remained were even more passionate in their devotion than ever before. They had been there when Feanor had broken the bonds of servitude and led his people away from the holy lands, vowing their everlasting loyalty first to him and later to his sons. Their own sons and daughters followed suit. Servitude and loyalty to the house of Feanor was everything they had ever known. 

Maedhros gathered around him his top brass, his hand gesturing wildly, while the other one was tucked deep and tight inside his vest. Out of sight. Maglor watched him go and when he was swallowed by the mass of people, Maglor remembered the children still hadn't been fed.

A moment later Maglor was balancing three bowls of broth on his hands as he pushed his way into his own tent through the heavy fabrics at the door. He cursed in annoyance as he felt a hot drop fall on his sleeve. Inside the tent he was greeted by the silent stares of the sullen twins. They were sitting together on the floor, spinning a piece of yarn between their fingers. As the enticing smell of the hot food reached their runny noses, they perked up and carefully craned their necks towards Maglor.  
"Come. There's food now," Maglor grumbled as he set the bowls on his small, wobbly camp table and went to fetch another stool. The boys might resemble wild animals, but he would make sure they would at least eat at the table. 

Elros was quick to rise to his feet and came to sit down at the table. Despite his young age he was wise enough not to touch any of the food without permission from his guardian. He crossed his hands and waited, nervously glancing back at his brother, who remained on the floor.  
"Elrond? Come to the table," Maglor ordered as he set down the other stool.  
Elrond didn't answer, only averted his eyes and focused on the forgotten string on the floor.  
"He hurt himself," Elros whispered.  
"What?"  
"He says he fell."  
Maglor eyes narrowed.  
He couldn't officially accuse anyone of harming them in case it ever happened. Most of the people hadn't learned to like the boys in the months they had been staying with the feanorians. They were children of the people they considered the enemy and a strange mix between elven and human, that nobody appreciated. They were also extra mouths to feed. What soothed their temper were the promises that the children would prove to be valuable in the future and that they were officially under Maedhros’ protection.  
Yet Maedhros didn't pay them much attention either. In the beginning the boys had been air to him. Not a word passed between them and Maedhros had done his best not to acknowledge in any way. As time passed, he started to treat them as someone might treat a strange dog. Short, curt words. Shooing them out of his way. 

Maglor crouched in front of Elrond and tried to peel back the pant leg to inspect the wound.  
Too late he realized his foolishness.

The boy hit his hand violently with an open palm. It stinged and Maglor instinctively yanked his hand back. The child crawled away from him as fast as he could.  
First he was aflame with anger. Urge to scream bubbled up his throat and he wanted to yank the boy up by the collar of his shirt and throw him out of the tent into the wet melting snow outside. Cast them out, leave them for the wolves to find so he wouldn’t have to deal with this and the emotions he had come to face for the very first time after decades of numbness. Yet, as he watched the child cowering in the corner, Maglor recognized the similar rage written on the child’s face and quickly sorrow doused his fury.  
He gave a weak smile to the boy, doing his best to meet his eyes.  
"I am sorry. It must have hurt terribly.”  
What was he apologizing for really?  
“Is it alright if your brother makes sure you aren't hurt badly?"  
Elrond's eyes flashed with unspoken questions and then he nodded quickly, looking at his brother who in turn was watching this scene unfold from the table.  
"Elros, would you kindly fetch the small kit under my bed, please?"  
The boy leapt to his feet, always happy to be included. With reverence he lifted the wooden box and brought it back to Maglor.  
"Good. Now, Elrond. Would you lift up your pant leg, so Elros can see better."  
Elrond complied without objections. 

Upon seeing the wound, Maglor sighed with relief. It seemed indeed that the boy had fallen and scraped his leg on something. The wound was superficial, the small trickle of blood making its way down the leg.  
"It seems that the wound will heal well enough with some medicine. Don't you agree, Elros?"  
"Yes!” Elros said with a loud, clear voice that seemed to surprise him as well for he cowered briefly.  
“What do I do now?" he continued with a smaller voice.  
It was the most Maglor had heard the boy speak in a very long time.  
"Well, right…" Maglor rummaged through his memory for the right cure. The kit  
was nowadays mostly filled with medicine meant to aid sleep and calm nerves.  
"There's a round, metal jar at the bottom. Take it out."  
Elros did so with ease.  
"Can you read it, Elros?"  
Elros went quiet and was tracing the letters on the tin with his fingertip.  
“Mother taught us letters. I know almost all of them. Elrond is smart. He can...could read short words with mother.”  
Maglor bit his lip and tried to keep his composure. He forced on a smile and turned back to Elrond.  
“Can you read that?”  
The child looked like he had bitten a sour fruit.  
“It’s quenya, of course I can’t.”  
Maglor felt so stupid. He talked mostly in sindarin with the children. Of course they wouldn’t know how to read quenya. They barely knew how to read their own cradle-tongue! He felt panicked for a moment, afraid he had embarrassed the boy and he would shut down again.  
Instead he asked without really thinking:  
“Would you like me to teach you?”  
Emotions clearly fought a vicious battle inside the clever small head. In the end, he only shrugged.  
“I guess so.”  
“Then let’s make it so. Now, Elros, take the tin and apply it to the wound like this…”

After they had fixed Elrond’s leg, all of them sat together to eat. The boys were ravenous, which was also clear evidence of their Peredhel heritage. They grew quicker and seemed to need extra food compared to the small portions he had witnessed his siblings nibble on as children. Except Celegorm, who their mother had compared to a wild beast that could devour entire meals in seconds.  
Maglor started to repeat words in quenya to them. They were both a quick study but Maglor noted that Elrond in particular took a keen interest in learning. His mouth carefully formed the strange sounds and compared them to his native tongue.  
“Food...matil…” Elrond murmured, clearly pleased with himself as he shoved food into his mouth.

They spent the afternoon sitting together on the floor, going through basic quenya. In the absence of books, Maglor gathered every single household item he could find and went through their names slowly with children. It turned out to be a fun game for all of them. When they ran out of items to name, Maglor made a note to himself to see if Maedhros had any books left. Maybe they should take a walk outside as well. Soon the flowers would be blooming and he could name every single one of them for them. He was getting unreasonably excited and even dared to feel some amount of joy. 

Then, abruptly Maedhros walked in and Maglor froze on the spot. His brother’s presence suddenly seemed to fill the entire space and all the tranquility vanished. The light coming from the candles seemed to get swallowed by his larger than life shadow. Maglor could feel Elros stiffen against his side and Elrond squeaked audibly. Maglor spared a glance at the boy, trying to signal that everything was alright, but felt like he couldn’t truly mask his unease.  
“Káno. What are you doing? I haven’t seen you all day, I wanted to talk to you about the hunting party, since you seemed to be in good spirits today and I need your advice.”  
“I was teaching the children quenya. Some reading as well.”  
Maedhros’ eyes narrowed to slits and his lips curled in sneer as he spared a hateful look at the boys.  
“Boys. Out.”  
“Nelyo...” Maglor tried to plead.  
Elrond rose and took his brother’s hand to lead him outside. They walked on their toes near the walls, and made sure they would stay a good distance away from the terrifying figure that had so suddenly interrupted their normalcy once again.  
“I’ll come and get you soon, don’t worry,” Maglor spoke softly to the boys as they disappeared into the darkening and cold evening.

“Nelyo,” Maglor started again but was cut off by Maedhros’ hand coming to squeeze his jaw. Maedhros yanked him closer, mere centimeters away from his face.  
“What do you think you are doing?”  
“You said the children were mine to take care of. That they would be useful for us in the future!”  
“Yes, I did. But I didn’t mean you start raising them like they are your own noble brats. In the end, they are prisoners and our pawns in a game yet to be played.”  
Maglor tried to release himself. His hands grasped at Maedhros’ wrist. How could one armed man still be so strong?  
Maybe he was just weak.  
“Káno, you said you wouldn’t betray me,” Maedhros’ voice turned soft and he let Maglor down gently. Maglor fell on his knees and rubbed his jaw.  
“I haven’t. The children just… they need me.”  
“I need you, Káno! What is our objective here?”  
“To fulfill the oath, I know…”  
“Yes, and we can’t give up now because you have started wanting to play house with some bastards. That kind of life is behind us!”  
“They are kin to us!”  
“Distant. And to be fair, I never liked Turukáno that much.”  
“Yet, they are of Findekános’ blood as well. If he were alive, what would he...”  
The slap snapped his head back. For a moment, the whole room spinned around him and colors of the fabric wall danced across his eyes. Maedhros seemed to grow even taller above him. Maglor gasped for breath. It had been a long time since he had angered Maedhros this way and he was sure the first slap wouldn’t be the last one.  
He shut his eyes and waited for the hand to descend upon him again. When nothing happened he peeked to see that Maedhros had gone to sit down at the table, where just hours ago he had eaten with the children. It took time for his vision to stop swaying and when it did, he realized Maedhros was crying. His broad shoulders were shaking with contained emotion.  
Maglor panicked, his own pain forgotten, and crawled with haste to his brother and took hold of his hands.

How could he behave this way! When his brother was carrying such a burden on his shoulders, who was Maglor to increase it? To remind Maedhros of sorrow and loss? He was ashamed of himself. Maedhros, once thought dead or worse, had been returned to them against all the odds. His brother had been through hell and all the torments imaginable. Maglor had vowed that he would do everything in power to lessen Maedhros pain and still, he behaved this way. Maedhros needed understanding and comfort, not crude words that reminded him of his failures. 

“Nelyo! Nelyo! I am sorry. I am here. You are here with me and safe. I’ll never leave you!”  
Tears kept pouring out of Maedhros’ grey eyes and he tried to free his hands to tear out his own hair. Every time Maglor wrestled them back down and held them. He was sobbing now too.  
For a moment they both just cried out their hurt. Quiet, private weeping. Shielded from the world that in their minds, was the cause of all of it.  
“If you ever, and I mean ever, mention him again, I won’t answer for my actions.”  
Maglor sobbed harder and nodded.  
“I understand. Just, leave the children alone. I am loyal to you but I will protect them now. Damn the consequences. If we are ever to use them for our advantage, they need me… they need us, as their loyal protectors who they can trust.”  
“You really care for them?”  
“I am starting to. Today, I felt a sense of peace I haven’t felt in a very long time. I ate a full meal for the first time in ages.”  
This time he felt a hand coming to softly ruffle his hair. Just like Maedhros, always taller than him, had always done since they were children.  
“If the children make sure you eat…”  
“They do.”  
Maedhros’ groaned and nodded.  
“Fine. Do whatever you want. If it makes you happy. Your happiness is important to me. Just…”  
“I know.”  
“Family comes first and it’s the only thing we can trust,” Maedhros said with a voice that was so similar to their father’s it sent a freezing shiver down Maglor’s spine.

After his brother had left Maglor pulled himself together enough that he managed to go sit on his bed. Then exhaustion overtook him and he could only sit there, slumped over. He spared no further thought for the twins, having forgotten his promises to go fetch them. Worry over Maedhros’ wellbeing rattled through his skull and he could see his hands shaking uncontrollably. He was just about to reach for his medicine kit, when a shuffle of feet reached his ears and the twins peeked inside. They looked around carefully, their eyes roaming through the entirety of the tent, before they decided it was safe enough to come in. 

Elros gasped as he saw Maglor’s cheek, which he realized then, was still stinging painfully. He touched it and found it quite swollen.  
“You’re hurt,” Elros gasped and looked closer.  
“I am fine, we just had a disagreement.”  
“About us?”  
Damn. The children were too clever for their own good. He wondered, had his brothers ever been like that?  
“No. He hit me because I hurt him first. You were not the cause of it. It was my fault, understand?”  
Elros nodded with uncertainty, but didn’t press the issue further. The child hopped onto his bed and suddenly Elrond was also next to him, thrusting the salve they had used on his own leg before, to Maglor.

“This helps, right?”  
Maglor had to wipe his eyes before nodding in agreement.  
“Yes. It does.”


End file.
